Merry Christmas, Iruka sensei
by Isolde1
Summary: Iruka did not hate Christmas. No, really. He was allergic to it. [Complete, KakaIru, idle fluff]
1. Part 1

**Merry Christmas, Iruka-sensei**

**Author:** Carcinya (Isolde on Fanfiction(dot)net)  
**Author E-mail:** carcinya(at)aol(dot)com  
**Category:** Humor/Romance  
**Keywords:** Naruto Iruka Kakashi  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Spoilers:** Possible up to episode 90  
**Summary:** Iruka did not hate Christmas. No, really. He was allergic to it. KakaIru, idle fluff  
**Disclaimer:** This story is based on situations and characters created and owned by Masashi Kishimoto, various publishers including but not limited to TV Tokyo. The song and the plot are mine. "Warning Sign" is Coldplay's. No money is being made and no copyright infringement intended.

Now, now, people. If Naruto was mine, do you really think I'd be sitting at my computer, sipping bad coffee, and writing bad fanfiction? Honestly.

**Author's notes**: I apologize in advance for any spelling or grammar mistake there might be in this story. I am French, and still only learning the beautiful language that is English. Any comments are welcome, but obviously flames will be used to roast marshmallows. Or flamers.

I was _trying _to be funny, I swear! And I ended up with that.

Go figure. **shrugs**

**Unbeated version.**

* * *

**"Merry Christmas, Iruka-sensei" Part 1/2**

_Christmas is a holiday that persecutes the lonely, the frayed, and the rejected._  
-- Jimmy Cannon

§§§

"We wish you a Merry Christm... GACK!"

Sitting straight up and bleary-eyed on the worn futon, the biting cold of the room rapidly turning his quick, annoyed breath into light, white mist, Umino Iruka glared at the remnants of what used to be his alarm clock but a moment before. Before he had thrown it with all his might against the opposite wall, that was. Then, with a heart-wrenching sigh and a muffled groan -- that might have been a curse, had Iruka been but a little less respectable -- he flipped over like a giant waffle on the iron, and snuggled back under the thick, comfy blankets, mourning for the lost warmth.

To say that Iruka hated the holiday season would have been unfair.

No, Iruka did not hate Christmas.

Really.

He wasn't the hateful type anyway, so don't insist.

He was -- to put it mildly -- _allergic_ to it.

The mere mention of anything Christmas-related was enough to give him the shivers. He avoided Christmas ornaments like the plague -- decorated trees were bad enough in his opinion, all flashy tinsel and garish colors, but how could anyone stomach the sheer kitsch of those chibi Santa-Claus scaling snowy chimneys and balconies was beyond him.

On the whole, Christmas cheers made him gag, and he had sworn years ago to kill on sight any red-nosed reindeer foolish enough to cross his path. Iruka was probably part of the reason -- along with the greenhouse effect and the struggle for life -- they had migrated to the Stone Country, where the locals, blissfully ignorant of the traditions of Christmas, had eaten them all with a tasty cranberry sauce.

Unfortunately for him, the poor Chuunin seemed to be the only one in Konoha suffering from this predicament.

Indeed, ritually, from December 1st to late January, the normally serious and responsible Hidden Village of the Leaf would turn into a gathering of blubbering, grinning maniacs ready to force-feed Christmas spirit to anyone judged too grim for the festive season. Those months, Iruka would seriously consider the path of a missing-nin, and the increasingly alluring prospect of a quick, merciful death at the hands of the ANBU -- a fate infinitely preferable to the slow agony of hearing off-key Christmas carols everyday.

But of course, being the conscientious soul that he was, loyalty would ultimately win over allergy, and Iruka would resign himself to grin and bear it -- even if it meant straining his facial muscles into a smile till it hurt and he was certain his face would be forever locked into a grotesque rictus.

No, Iruka really could not stand Christmas, which, as he liked to point out, was nothing but a commercial farce, celebrating Kami-knew-what, but certainly nothing of significance for them, and coming from Kami-knew-what country, but certainly not their own.

So _there_.

Of course, Iruka's allergy might have had something to do with the fact that he had nobody to celebrate with -- no parents, no lover, no friends, not even a cat, a rat, or a stuffed bear. Iruka didn't even have lice.

He was all alone, really.

Pathetic as it might sound, at the age of twenty-five, Iruka had no friends to speak of. Itzumo and Kotetsu were the closest thing he had to friendship, but they rarely saw each other outside from work -- if ever. He used to be very close to Anko, his childhood friend and former "partner in crime" -- but Orochimaru's betrayal had left her bitter beyond her years, broken beyond repair. She had shunned everybody out, the world in general, and her loved ones in particular -- the rare people, who, like Iruka, were still willing to stand by her.

Iruka was of those who would never forsake their friends in need, whatever mistakes they might have made -- and Anko had made quite a few. But Anko would accept help, believing, in her twistedly straightforward way, that she deserved her fate. She had left him, her best and dearest friend, before he could leave _her_.

It was then, at that precise moment, that Iruka had understood, with the poignant razor-sharp certainty of unwanted insight, that nothing he could say would change her mind -- he had lost her forever. And she had left, and he had watched her leave, the way all the people he had loved before had left -- without saying good-bye.

The day had been December the 24th -- Fate, it seemed, had a twisted sense of humor -- and at thirteen, Iruka had been already all too aware of the pain of loss -- and he had felt this one keenly indeed.

But then, Iruka had been told, Christmas was not to be celebrated with one's friends, but with one's family -- curiously enough, it had not helped Iruka's allergy any.

This year, he had wanted to ask Naruto to spend the blasted holiday with him, and in all honesty the mere thought would have had him fidgeting with gleeful impatience, but for the fact that respectable shinobi teachers like Iruka certainly did _not_ fidget.

It had not quite gone like he had expected.

§§§

_-- Three days ago -- _

Sitting behind his desk in the mission room, Iruka was waiting for the most infamous Genin Team in Konoha to appear.

But before he could ask, the blond boy flung himself at him and started explaining, in his loud, brash way, how Kakashi-sensei and Team 7 -- minus Sakura -- would celebrate Christmas together. Though he kept smiling, Iruka felt something constrict painfully in his chest. But in all the years he had known him, Naruto had rarely looked so happy -- he was positively glowing -- and anyway, Iruka hated -- pardon, was _allergic_ to -- Christmas. So why did Iruka find it so difficult to breathe?

Iruka ruffled the boy's hair and laughed. Though it sounded horribly hollow to his own ears, Naruto probably did not notice. When he looked up, however, he a met a single, piercing blue eye riveted on him. Kakashi-sensei looked perhaps a shade too pale, but maybe it just been the artificial light of the room -- terrible for the complexion, or so Kurenai-san always said.

The Chuunin forced a smile to his lips and wished them both a Merry Christmas.

But Kakashi was not so easily fooled. Being his annoyingly perceptive self -- even with the Sharingan sagely concealed under the black forehead protector, which incidentally gave him an odd, bushy-haired, pirate-like air, and -- where was I? Oh, yes -- so Kakashi indeed noticed the odd gleam in Iruka's eyes as he stroked Naruto's hair benignly, that odd mix of stifled old pain and genuine, profound tenderness the young teacher seemed to radiate with whenever Naruto entered his field of vision.

Feeling uncharacteristically benevolent - or maybe he was just bored -- Kakashi ambled over to Iruka, and raised his right hand, lazily, in a semblance of greeting.

"Yo," he said, "Iruka-sensei."

The Chuunin blushed lightly, a faint dusting of pink across tanned cheeks, as the syllables of his name rolled off Kakashi's tongue like silk gliding over a naked body.

"Kakashi-san," he replied, as pleasantly as he could manage. He forced another smile. "How are you today?"

"Still wandering on the road of life," Kakashi drawled, before adding conversationally, "What about you, sensei?"

Iruka's smile was growing more strained by the second. _I'll feel better as soon as I can get out of here, _he thought and kept for himself.

"Why, I feel perfectly fine. Thank you for your concern," he managed to say, almost smoothly.

_Ever polite_, Kakashi thought, _even when he is about to break down._

He cocked an eyebrow._Interesting._

"You do look a bit pale, though," he pointed out, a note of wry amusement creeping into his voice.

In spite of his best efforts, Iruka's smile shone achingly fake, the glint of bared teeth too bright and too white against dark skin and even darker eyes. A swarthy-skinned, fine-boned hand shot up, scratched nervously at scarred nose, fell back to the side. Iruka kept smiling, shrugging on the cheerful facade like an old, comfortable shirt. Unlike Kakashi, Iruka did not cover his face -- no, his own mask was more subtle, less tangible, yet no less efficient.

Iruka was too young to be hiding behind a smile. The thought had stirred something in Kakashi, though outwardly he showed no reaction. Maybe there was more to the mild-mannered Chuunin than sweet smiles and blushes.

"Would you like to join us for Christmas?" Kakashi suggested.

Iruka seemed to consider the offer, torn between intense longing and deep-rooted pride. He frowned slightly, fake smile still firmly in place.

"Thank you," he replied, "but I'm afraid I'll have to decline."

"Why is that?" Kakashi inquired curiously, taking a step closer.

Caught unaware by the indiscreet bluntness of the question, Iruka's mind desperately fumbled for an answer.

"Er... I..." he stammered, mentally berating himself for his carelessness.

The Jounin took another step. They stood so close now he could feel Kakashi's body heart warming up his very bones and hear his light, easy breathing.

Iruka blinked. Had the man no notion of personal space?

"Why won't you join us?" the older man repeated.

He had taken his hands out of his pockets, Iruka noticed vaguely. They dangled at his sides, the scarred fingertips but millimeters away from Iruka's palms. Almost imperceptible, a single finger ran lightly over the smooth, sensitive skin. The unexpected contact, oddly intimate, elicited a violent shiver from the Chuunin.

Deeply troubled, Iruka blushed darkly, hating himself for it.

"I have other plans," he said firmly, struggling to regain his composure.

"I see," said Kakashi, though it was hard to tell if he really did. He looked bored and indifferent, as he did most of the time, but for a second Iruka was certain he glimpsed disappointment in that single blue eye.

Iruka felt a disconcerting flash of longing surge through his body when the Jounin took a graceful step back. He let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding.

The older man surveyed him pensively for a few seconds, then he turned away and made slowly for the door.

"Merry Christmas, Iruka-sensei," he offered without turning back.

Iruka sneezed, eyes watering.

_Damn allergy!_

§§§

_-- Back to present time --_

At lenght, after a particularly annoying sneezing fit, it became obvious to Iruka that he would not manage to go back to sleep this morning. So much for sleeping in and hiding all day long under the covers, he thought regretfully, crawling out of bed with a weary sigh.

He made a beeline for the coffee-maker, turned it on and headed for the bathroom. The blue and white tiled floor felt like raw ice under his bare feet; he cringed. Shrugging off his gray, faded pajamas, he stepped into the shower stall and turned on the hot water -- full blast.

A heartbeat and a manly yelp later, he sprang out, arms flaying wildly, teeth chattering.

No hot water.

It was Christmas morning, his allergy was acting up, and there was no hot water. Fortunately, there was enough coffee for the day -- God forbid -- or else Iruka would probably have locked himself in a closet and swallowed the key.

He toweled himself energetically, trying to regain some warmth.

_At least I am awake now_, he thought wryly.

Still feeling unpleasantly chilled, shaking like a leaf, Iruka padded across the flat to his room. He sneezed. And sneezed again. And again. Sniffling miserably, he put on worn sweatpants and a clean white shirt.

_Damn allergy!_

Well, anyway, the prospect of spending Christmas Eve in blissful drug-induced stupor held a certain, distinct appeal. Iruka even managed a small, wan smile as he dragged himself to the coffee-maker. He watched, enraptured, the precious black liquid drip-dropping with agonizing slowness into the small porcelain cup.

Iruka hesitated, then grabbed the bottle of Tylenol lying on the counter and shook it hopefully. He popped open the white plastic cork and swallowed dry too many pills -- not that he was in any state to realize it. His hand closed loosely around the coffee cup.

He sneezed.

The cup fell to the floor and shattered.

Feeling vaguely desperate, Iruka stooped down and started picking up the pieces. An ominous bang above him made him start. He banged his head on the Formica counter, and gave a yelp of pain as a sharp shard of porcelain cut his hand viciously. Sucking on the injured finger, he rubbed cautiously his bruised scalp with his other hand and got up slowly.

Iruka surveyed the scene for a moment, forlornly, and let out a sigh of infinite weariness. The coffee-maker, wretched, selfish machine that it was, had decided to kick the bucket.

It was Christmas Eve, there was no hot water, and there was no coffee.

No coffee.

No.

Coffee.

_Life's cruel_, Iruka thought, before he resolutely made for the closet.

§§§

_-- A few hours later --_

Iruka woke up to the persistent, annoyingly shrill tone of the doorbell. Sprawled haphazardly on the futon, he gave a heart-wrenching groan. The closet had been a complete disappointment -- it was full of disgusting creepers and gave off a terrible, moldy stench. Anyway, he had lost the key. He had thus ended up back on the futon, where he had slept like the dead for a few merciful hours.

_Not again_, he thought, hiding his head under the pillow. _Let me die in peace._

Oblivious to his ire, the bell rang again.

"Go 'way," he croaked out, his voice raspy and thick with sleep. He willed the unwelcome visitor to take the hint and leave him alone.

They did not.

Obviously very much intending to wear him out -- and his patience thin -- the visitor pushed relentlessly the bell button. Iruka gave in after the forty-eighth chime.

"Ah, to hell with it," he murmured, definitely peeved. "Comin'!" he called out as loudly as he could manage.

The infuriating ring-ring stopped at once. Iruka shot a dirty glance at the door over his shoulder. He ran a hand distractedly over his hair, trying to smooth it down some -- in vain --, not really caring about his disheveled state. Still shivering, he draped himself in a blanket -- he had piled them up on the futon and huddled under them like a marmot hibernating in its burrow -- and tightened the rumpled fabric around his body.

The Chuunin trudged to the front door and opened it wide, without even bothering to check the identity of the untimely visitor -- Iruka half-hoped it would turn out to be a serial-killer who would mercifully put an end to his suffering.

No such luck.

"Kakashi-sensei," Iruka wheezed, gripping the threshold for support as a spell of dizziness hit him hard. "What can I do for you?"

The Jounin looked faintly puzzled. His gaze raked over Iruka quickly and thoroughly, taking in the clammy, sallow skin, the puffy nose and disheveled dark hair. Iruka turned away abruptly and sneezed -- once, twice -- hiding his face behind his hands.

"Are you ill?" Kakashi asked intelligently, raising an eyebrow. "You look terrible."

_Gee, thanks! That makes me feel so much better_, Iruka thought, annoyance and humiliation flaring.

"You should really get some rest, sensei," the Jounin advised, nodding sagely.

Iruka scowled. _I _was_ resting!_

"Was there anything you wanted, Kakashi-sensei?" the Chuunin asked, too tired to try and keep the bite out of his voice.

"Well, now that you mention it..."

Iruka's vision suddenly went from blotchy to downright hazy, and he had to grip the door handle tighter. He took a deep breath to steady himself.

"Iruka-sensei," Kakashi called, faintly alarmed. He sounded very far.

Iruka's perception of his surroundings was quickly turning into a weird, distorted, black and white buzz.

_Uh oh._

"I am fine," he mumbled vaguely. Kakashi, and the rest of the world suddenly tilted at an odd angle.

_The ceiling definitely needs repainting_, Iruka thought distinctly.

Then everything went black.

* * *

Told you it was weird. 


	2. Part 2

**Merry Christmas, Iruka-sensei**

**Author:** Carcinya (Isolde on Fanfiction(dot)net)  
**Author E-mail:** carcinya(at)aol(dot)com  
**Category:** Humor/Romance  
**Keywords:** Naruto Iruka Kakashi Christmas allergy  
**Rating:** PG  
**Spoilers:** Possible up to episode 90  
**Summary:** Iruka did not hate Christmas. No, really. It was more an allergy.  
**Disclaimer:** This story is based on situations and characters created and owned by Masashi Kishimoto, various publishers including but not limited to TV Tokyo. The song and the plot are mine. No money is being made and no copyright infringement intended.

Now, now, people. If Naruto was mine, do you really think I'd be sitting at my computer, sipping bad coffee, and writing bad fanfiction? Honestly.

**Author's notes**: I apologize in advance for any spelling or grammar mistake there might be in this story. I am French, and still only learning the beautiful language that is English. Any comments are welcome, but obviously flames will be used to roast marshmallows. Or flamers.

Dedicated to Perle, my beloved tabby. So scratch me.

**Unbetaed.**

* * *

****

**"Merry Christmas, Iruka-sensei" Part 2/2**

**  
**

_Have you ever met somebody who could  
Unmask you  
The way you unmask me?_

_Show me the real you  
And I'll show you the real me  
Can we make a second first impression, baby?_

Daniel Bedingfield

§§§

Waking up for the third time that day, and with a pounding headache to make matters worse, Iruka decided that he did, in fact, hate Christmas. He gave a light groan and stretched cautiously on the futon.

"Rise and shine, sensei."

From where he stood leaning against the doorway, a breakfast tray balanced precariously on the palm of his right hand, Kakashi watched Iruka sit up with wary slowness and rub the sleep from his eyes, in a touching, almost childlike way.

"Kakashi-sensei," Iruka whispered, obviously puzzled. He blinked - once, twice - but Kakashi remained there, still masked and one-eyed and standing in his doorway. He had removed his flak jacket and weapon pouches, the Chuunin noted, nibbling his lower lip in bewilderment.

"The one and only," replied the older man, with what Iruka thought was a boyish grin under the mask.

"And so the nightmares continues," Iruka murmured, watching with wide-eyed, helpless horror as Kakashi gave a deep bow - which, while graceful, nearly sent the tray flying.

The Jounin looked hurt.

"Why, I am hurt," he said with mock emphasis, sniffling. "Here I was, bringing you a nice, big Christmas breakfast, and in bed, nonetheless..."

Iruka sneezed, then looked up and stared blankly at Kakashi. _Christmas breakfast? What the..._

"You look better," the Jounin said, tsking and eyeing him critically, "But you still need to fight off your cold. So eat!"

"I don't have a cold," Iruka shot back sulkily.

"The flu?"

"No."

"Tuberculosis, maybe?"

"No!"

"Then what?"

"I'm allergic," Iruka murmured, miserable. He kept twisting the thick blanket on his lap, an unconscious, nervous gesture which made him look as young and shy as one his students.

Refusing to let himself be distracted by the remarkably adorable sight Iruka made, Kakashi frowned.

"Allergic to what, pray tell? Pretty strong reaction if you ask me..." he asked, looking understandably dubious.

"To Christmas," Iruka said with a sneeze.

"No one is allergic to Christmas..." Kakashi began, trailing off when Iruka sneezed.

He raised an eyebrow and the poor Chuunin recoiled at the evil, impish glint that suddenly lit up in his eye.

"Christmas," the older man said experimentally, looking for all the world like a devilish brat who had just found a new toy.

Iruka sneezed again.

"Christmas, Christmas, Christmas, Christmas..."

"_Stop_ - ATCHA - _Gah_ - ATCHA - _Stopit_ - ATCHA - _Stopitdammit_!"

Kakashi chuckled, struggling against the fit of hilarity that threatened to overcome him. "Maa..."

Iruka, on the other hand, was not amused. He pushed back the covers and sprang up on shaky legs. Then he marched straight at Kakashi, looking positively murderous.

The Jounin, sensing impeding danger, backed as fast as he could into the living room and set the tray onto the kitchen - a wise gesture, for then Iruka grabbed him by his shirt and attempted to steer him toward the front door with all his might, which was not much at the moment. To Iruka's chagrin, the man did not move an inch, and grabbed his shoulders in a firm grip instead.

"Out," Iruka wheezed, breathless but undaunted, "OUT!"

"Calm down."

"Get out."

"Not before you calm down."

Iruka felt weak as a newborn puppy, and equally ridiculous. His legs gave way under him as he finally surrendered and he clung to Kakashi for support. He bowed his head in silent defeat, humiliation flaring. He knew he was no match for the Jounin in normal circumstances, but this was an acute reminder of their differences in status. It pained him more than he cared to admit that Kakashi could toy with him in this fashion, the way he would with a trouble-making Genin...

"Why?" he asked brokenly as he let Kakashi help him onto the couch, "Why do you always do that?"

"What are you talking about?" the Jounin shot back, sounding genuinely startled.

Iruka did not seem to have heard him.

"What did I do?" he continued in a whisper, "Please tell what I have done to offend you, so I can apologize and ..."

Kakashi lifted Iruka's chin, effectively silencing him. He frowned.

"Iruka-sensei, what-are-you-talking-about?" he said, enunciating each word as if he was talking to a small child. _Or an idiot_, Iruka thought dourly.

The Jounin scratched the back of his neck, befuddled to see tears welling up in Iruka's dark eyes.

"You hate me," the younger man said in a rush, "You hate me, because you obviously wouldn't bother harassing a low-level Chuunin like me unless I had done something to offend you, so..."

_Looks like someone's got some self-esteem problems, eh?_ Kakashi thought sadly, shaking his head.

"Wait," he cut in, holding up a placating hand, "What in the world makes you think I hate you?"

Iruka started counting off his fingers, bristling and shaking and blinking back angry tears.

"You keep putting me down and humiliating me, you make a point of _always_ handing your report extra-late, you took Naruto away from me..."

"No, I did not. Naruto all but worships you. And if you're talking about your wanting to celebrate the holidays with him - don't you deny it - I _did_ invite you. You were the one who refused, sensei."

Said sensei opened his mouth to answer indignantly, then closed it with an audible snap, looking distinctly put out.

"As for humiliating you," Kakashi continued quietly, "I assure you it has never been my intention."

At a loss for words, the Chuunin dropped his gaze to the floor, twisting his hands on his lap. His throat felt unaccountably tight.

"I plead guilty for the overdue reports, and ... I admit I _probably_ shouldn't have teased you about your Christmas allergy."

Iruka sneezed.

"... Woops?" Kakashi offered, scratching the back of his neck, a sheepish smile all too evident under the thin fabric of his mask. The grin faded almost instantly when he noticed Iruka's shoulders were shaking lightly. The young man had hidden his face in his hands.

"Ah," he said, light mood evaporating, "Please don't cry..."

Kakashi placed a tentative hand on Iruka's back and was surprised to feel under his fingers the low rumbled of repressed laughter. A relieved smile tugged at his lips. Slowly, he parted the Chuunin's hands and drew them away from his face.

Iruka _had_ been crying, he realized with a pang, staring at the tear-streaked face.

Bordering on hysterics, the young man was chuckling through his tears. Exhausted by the emotional rollercoaster he had barely got off from, he hugged himself tightly. He wasn't very thinking very coherently.

"I got everything wrong, as usual," he said, softly, "I am sorry."

"Don't be," Kakashi replied, looking vaguely sheepish. "I'm really no good at this sort of things, eh?"

"Actually," Iruka said ruefully, wiping his cheeks with the back of his hand, "I think you're pretty good."

"... Really?"

"Don't worry," the younger man continued, wanly, "Your torturing skills are topnotch."

Kakashi flinched.

"Ah," he murmured, "I suppose I deserved that."

Iruka's face scrunched up adorably.

"I'm not sure I understand," he said, eyes widening when he managed to catch Kakashi's gaze at last.

Was the Jounin actually_ blushing_?

A loud rumble startled them both, sparing Kakashi an all too embarrassing explanation. Iruka's hand flew to his stomach, feeling incredibly awkward.

Kakashi crossed his arms on his chest.

"When was the last time you ate?" he asked reproachfully, tapping his fingers lightly on his forearm.

"Err..."

The Chuunin scratched his nose. He remembered vaguely eating a cup of beef-flavored instant ramen the day before, or maybe the day before that...

"It depends," he said, prudently, "What time is it?"

"Around seven, I reckon."

Iruka paled a surprising shade of white.

"It ... it can't be!"

Kakashi cocked an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"There must be some kind of mistake," Iruka protested, eyes raking feverishly over the room. The large clock hanging on the kitchen wall read ...

"A quarter past seven," Kakashi said, "I'd wish you a Merry You-Know-What, but ..."

He smiled under his mask as Iruka's eyes widened comically in sudden realization.

"You mean..."

"Don't make me say the words, or you'll sneeze again."

"How long have I been out?" the Chuunin asked, his shock evident.

_Long enough to worry me_, Kakashi thought and kept for himself.

"You passed out on me yesterday afternoon."

"Thanks for the news flash," Iruka muttered under his breath. The Jounin ignored him.

"I carried you back to your futon. You slept like the dead all night, except for the odd nightmare or two."

The stunning implication behind Kakashi's flippant words, delivered on a lazy monotone, left him reeling and blinking owlishly.

"You ... you stayed with me?"

A nod.

"_All night_?"

Another nod.

"But ... why?" Iruka asked, still wide eyed and looking for all the world like a child who had just been told Christmas would come in early this year - ridiculously pleased, and yet afraid to discover this was, in fact, nothing but a cruel joke.

_He still does not get it, eh? _Kakashi mused wryly.

"Well, for one I wasn't about to leave you out cold on the doorstep," he replied, before adding, quietly, "And then you couldn't just stay alone with a fever like yours, now, could you..."

"But..."

"Changed my plans," the Jounin said flatly, shrugging.

"But..."

"I sent Pakkun to tell them I'd stay here and keep and eye on you."

"But..."

"Don't worry, sensei, I don't think they minded that much."

"But..."

Smiling softly, the Jounin pressed his fingers to Iruka's lips to silence him. "Hush, now."

While Kakashi got up and made for the kitchen, Iruka slumped against the couch bonelessly, feeling utterly drained. He rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"I ruined your evening," he said blankly, staring off into space.

"Not really," the Jounin replied, taking the now warm chicken soup from the microwave. He walked back slowly to the couch, and put the breakfast tray onto the coffee table, before he sat down. He stirred the broth patiently, tapped the spoon against the porcelain twice, then held out the cup for Iruka. The Chuunin smiled tentatively before taking a sip.

"Yesterday," Kakashi continued, looking uncharacteristically unsure, "I came to ask you to join us. I ... Actually, I was hoping you had changed your mind."

"You ... you were?" Iruka said softly, not really knowing what to think. Was the Jounin toying with him again?

They sat staring at each other for a long while, neither daring to take the next step, Iruka blushing lightly and stirring the chicken soup as if it were the most fascinating task in the world, and Kakashi anxiously contemplating his next course of action. It was the critical part of his plan, and he could not afford to mess up. At length, he decided to break the silence, and had just opened his mouth to speak, when his brain registered a strange, repetitive scratching sound.

"Did you hear that?" he said, straining his ear.

Iruka frowned, listening intently as well. "I think it's coming from the door," he murmured, not without a little dread.

_Murphy's law, someone said Murphy's law?_

They exchanged a telling look, then Kakashi shrugged and got up gracefully, remembering all of sudden that he was Jounin and a genius to boot. He walked straight to the door and opened it wide.

Nothing.

"Down here, you big lug," said a familiar, nasal voice.

Kakashi looked down obligingly. A small, pudgy mutt sat on Iruka's frayed doormat, glowering. He held the handle of a small wicker basket between his teeth.

"Yo," the Jounin said, raising a hand in greeting. He crossed his arms on his chest disapprovingly. "What's with the crazy scratching? Couldn't you have passed through a window or something?"

"I am a well-bred dog," Pakkun said indifferently, giving the canine equivalent of a shrug, "Blame my dam."

Kakashi shuddered.

"Leave your venerable mother out of it," he said quickly, unbidden images of the overbearing, enormous she-dog springing into his mind.

"My point exactly," the dog said, not without sympathy. "Anyway, there you go."

"Thanks," the Jounin replied, sounding distinctly pleased.

"I'll have you know I'm an elite nin-dog, not a broker. Find another idiot to run your errands for you, will you?"

"Whatever," Kakashi sighed.

He stooped down to pick up the basket, holding it with infinite precautions against his chest. He stretched out his hand and scratched the dog affectionately behind the ears.

Pakkun looked somewhat mollified. Then he got up and turned on his heels sharply.

"So long, brat," he said, glancing back over his shoulder. "Good luck, I guess. That bitch of yours seems pretty moody..."

Kakashi slammed the door shut with a well-aimed kick.

§§§

Meanwhile, true to his nature, Iruka had profited of Kakashi's absence to get up and sneak into the kitchen with the breakfast tray. As far as he could tell, he wasn't about to die just_ yet_ - though that was a close call - so he wasn't going to let _anyone_ wait on him, let alone a _Jounin_, and certainly not_ Kakashi_.

With the careless ease of habit, the Chuunin toed open the cupboard under the sink and grabbed a clean rag. He began drying the breakfast-cup but after a few seconds it escaped Iruka's shaky hold and fell to the floor, shattering. An awful sense of deja vu washed over him as he kneeled down on the cold floor and started picking up the pieces morosely.

"Can't you sit still for more than a minute?" a voice overhead admonished. Iruka gave a startled yelp when Kakashi, moving with uncanny Jounin speed, scooped him up in his arms.

"WHAT -" he began, severely aggravated, but Kakashi hushed him.

"It's all you can do to stand," he said flatly, "and you're freezing."

Iruka grumbled and grumbled but Kakashi would not let him down and finally, he relented, relaxing into the Jounin's arms as he was carried back to the couch.

The Chuunin was heavier than he looked, Kakashi mused. He could feel firm muscles tensing and rippling under Iruka's tanned skin, and he was willing to bet there wasn't an ounce of fat over his body - Kakashi had been very, oh so very tempted to check the day before, but a strange sense of morality had stopped him. That, and the fact that Iruka would in all likelihood have disemboweled him had he woken up.

_Later,_ he promised himself.

Iruka perked up when he noticed the small basket on the coffee table. He was positive it had not been there before. He glanced at Kakashi, terribly curious, but held his tongue - his pride already battered enough as it was.

Kakashi helped him onto the couch then went to settle down in the armchair with lazy, feline grace.

They sat staring at each other across the coffee table for a very long while, each silently sizing up the other. Iruka had the strangest feeling - he _had _to win this battle at last, no matter how trivial the object of their fighting could seem.

Such a petty, silly contest - who would speak up first - and yet ...

It was a matter of principle, and a great deal more than that.

In normal circumstances, Kakashi would probably always outwit Iruka, and should they ever face each other in a fight, it was almost a given that Iruka would lose. It was a constant in their dealings, and Iruka did not begrudge him that - Kakashi was Kakashi. There was no denying Iruka was outclassed, and badly - both physically and intellectually - but that did not mean there weren't fields where _Iruka_ could best _him_.

Sheer dumb stubbornness, for one; loyalty; and even valor - for all Kakashi's mettle could not compare to the absurd courage of a man who went on living when so many would have died, smiling like he had never been hurt, and who, given the chance, would love like he had never known grief.

Iruka was not powerful, but he was strong, in his own right, and he needed Kakashi to acknowledge it. Deep inside, he knew that, whatever the outcome, it would affect his possible future relationship with the Jounin.

Kakashi, too, had lost far too much in his twenty-six years of life - but there was one single, fundamental difference between him and Iruka.

He was afraid, terribly afraid.

Afraid not to be good enough - he had outlived them all, but did he _deserve_ to live?

Afraid to be weak - what was the point of being a genius if you couldn't even _save_ your friends?

Afraid to live - how to blame him, when life had brought him so much pain?

Iruka felt, with unaccountable clarity, that the man in front of him needed, for once in his life, to give in of his own free will. Not to trust - no, that would come later - but just to surrender that little part of himself he had given no one else: to show Iruka just how vulnerable a Jounin's heart could be.

It was not much, and it was asking the world.

Both understood it perfectly.

At length, after what seemed to them hours of silent staring, Kakashi laughed lightly and ran a hand through his hair, a casual gesture which tried a little awkwardly to mask his nervosity. Iruka remained impassible, but a smile tugged at his lips.

"All right," the Jounin conceded, holding up his hands. "You win."

The words flowed out of his mouth before he could stop them, and he was surprised to find he did not regret them.

_Is it so easy? _He mused, watching Iruka's face break into an oddly warm smile.

"Thank you," the younger man murmured, meaningly.

Kakashi felt his face heat up, embarrassed for no reason he could name.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" he said to cover his trouble, not quite meeting Iruka's eye. "Open it."

With a particularly delightful sense of timing, the small basket choose that precise moment to give a strange, high-pitched sound.

"Did that thing just _mewl_?" Iruka asked, raising an eyebrow, before he added, understandably suspicious, "_What_'s in it, by the way?"

The Jounin shrugged, looking vaguely sheepish.

"Why don't you find out for yourself?"

Definitely wary by now, the young man stretched out a careful hand, snatching it back hastily when the basket made another weird, ear-piercing noise. Kakashi laughed.

A little miffed, Iruka reached out with precautions for the lid. He opened it and peered inside.

"What in ..." he began, his voice trailing off in utter puzzlement as he sneaked a hand inside the basket and grabbed something warm and small and purring.

_Purring?_!

There was a long, blank moment as Iruka sat at a loss for words, staring at the tiny bundle of life he held in front of his face, all soft mewls and dangling paws.

"I found her half-dead in the forest about a month ago," Kakashi said, tone carefully neutral, "But really I'm more of a dog-lover myself, so I thought ..."

He stopped abruptly when he noticed Iruka had not heard a word of what he had said. He shook his head, amused, and settled back in his seat, watching the scene intently.

The kitten was happily purring away, apparently quite as taken with Iruka as the young man was with her. Iruka's melting brown eyes had lit up, a soft half smile hovering on his lips, his whole face radiating with renewed life - pain, loneliness and allergy long forgotten. Even in his disheveled state, his nose puffy and his lips cracked, he had never seemed more beautiful to Kakashi.

"Her name is ..."

"Risu-chan, yes, I know," Iruka whispered with a dazzling smile, adding before Kakashi could ask, "She told me."

The Jounin stared at the pair, shinobi and kitten, suddenly dumbstruck.

How could he have been so _blind_?

_Of course she would be a nin-cat,_ Kakashi thought furiously, berating himself for his own stupidity. _A mere animal wouldn't watch TV..._

He had considered the possibility, of course, but since she did not seem able to talk, he had quickly dismissed it. How very presumptuous of him! Just because she refused to communicate with him did not necessarily mean there weren't others with whom she would - and obviously she had found her match in Iruka.

But as Kakashi had told Iruka quite honestly, he was nothing if not a dog-lover - probably because there was too much cat in _himself_ - and nin-cats were so rare it was small wonder the Jounin had not noticed.

Even in hindsight, it was difficult to say whether it was the nin-cats themselves or the bloodlines taming them who had disappeared first. At any rate, both were almost extinct these days, but in the First Hokage's time they had been as common in shinobi villages as their canine counterparts.

"Because of the tail - or almost lack thereof," he specified weakly, feeling terribly foolish, "That, and her downright annoying tendency to climb up trees she can't quite get down from."

"Beautiful," Iruka murmured, still mesmerized.

The kitten had enormous bright eyes the color of winter skies. Two long ear tufts, and a black-tipped, bobbed tail were the only visible touches of darkness in the otherwise pale, silky fur that covered her small body. Fine-boned and well proportioned, it did not take an expert to realize she would grow into a quite dashing specimen. Having earned his fair share of nasty scratches during the month they had spent together, Kakashi knew only too well that she was as feisty as she was clever, which was something.

"Indeed," Kakashi said lightly, "And the kit isn't half-bad, either."

To the Jounin's mild chagrin, Iruka did not so much as blush. In fact, he looked merely startled, jolted back to reality by Kakashi's flippant words.

"You are lucky to have such a pretty kitten, Kakashi-sensei," he said politely, not quite able to keep the dejection from seeping into his voice. But when he held out the baby lynx to its owner, the tiny bundle of fur gave a piercing mewl and dug its claws into Iruka's skin.

She obviously had no intention to go anywhere.

The Chuunin blinked.

"Err ..." he began, "Hum."

He tried again - not to avail. The kitten held on, mewling firmly.

Kakashi gave a light chuckle.

"Sounds like you're stuck with her," he said, clearly amused by the fact Iruka seemed quite unaware that he had just bonded with a nin-cat.

The younger man frowned, almost afraid to have misunderstood. "You mean..."

"Merry You-Know-What," Kakashi whispered, blushing lightly under the mask, "Iruka-sensei."

Beet red, Iruka tried to speak and found that words somehow refused to leave his unaccountably tight throat. Settling the kitten on his lap, he took a deep breath.

"Thank... thank you, Kakashi-sensei," he breathed, and never before had these simple words held so much meaning. Then a sudden thought struck him, and he gasped, looking absolutely miserable, "But I... I didn't get you anything..."

The Jounin shook his head and looked away, unable to help the nervous fluttering in the pit of his stomach.

"Yes, you did," he said, sounding more assured than he felt. "You did."

Then he turned back to Iruka, and looked straight into the confused brown eyes of an even more puzzled Chuunin.

Iruka seemed to have lost all capability of coherent thinking. He stared, shocked into silence, as one of Kakashi's hands came to rest on his shoulder and the other drew down the black cloth mask with agonizing slowness; stared some more, as the Jounin leaned in hesitantly, half-expecting to be pushed away; squeezed his eyes shut as soft, warm lips suddenly met his own...

Kakashi kissed him then, at first unsure and almost shy, then growing increasingly passionate as Iruka responded in kind. The Jounin would later claim he was the one who deepened the kiss, but really it was more a set of favorable circumstances: Kakashi licked, Iruka gasped, and Kakashi -being essentially himself and knowing better than to let pass such an, erm, 'opening'- decided to play Smooch The Chuunin.

They had been engrossed in the 'game' for quite some time, when at length little Risu-chan decided she had had enough and started mewling energetically.

Kakashi drew back slowly and took a long look at Iruka, half-expecting the younger man to bash him in the head or bolt - or maybe both.

Iruka did neither.

Instead, he blushed an unbelievable shade of red. And stared.

Stared so much, in fact, that Kakashi began to squirm uncomfortably.

"So handsome," the Chuunin blurted out at length, the words rushing out of his mouth before he could stop them. He slapped the hand that wasn't petting Risu-chan over his mouth and nose in shame, desperately hoping to prevent another disastrous slip-up.

Kakashi raised an eyebrow.

"Did I just say what I think I said?" Iruka squeaked weakly from behind his fingers.

"Why, I think you did," Kakashi replied, trying to keep the hilarity out of his voice. Then he gave in and burst out laughing, a merry, carefree laugh which shook Iruka to the core of his being. Almost as if a spring had loosened in him somehow, Iruka relaxed and started chuckling. Before long, both ninjas were doubled up in laughter, unable to help themselves, feeling deliciously silly.

At length, Kakashi took a deep breath to steady himself and pulled a still snickering Iruka against his chest, nearly squashing Risu-chan in the process. The kitten promptly leapt out of the way, mewling indignantly. The Chuunin stiffened at first, startled, then settled his dark head comfortably in the crook of Kakashi's neck, breathless.

"See?" the Jounin whispered, putting his arms around Iruka's back. "A lovely Christmas present."

Iruka sneezed.

§§§

Epilogue (sort of)

_- Two hours later_ -

Kakashi flipped through the channels distractedly, Iruka snuggled against his side. They were curled up on the couch, huddling under a thick, warm blanket Kakashi had snatched from the bedroom. The Chuunin was already fast asleep, his breathing deep and even, his head pillowed on Kakashi's shoulder, one hand clenching the fabric of his shirt.

Little Risu-chan had dozed off as well, snuggled up like a bug in a rug against her master. Both twitched a little from time to time. Kakashi wondered if they were sharing the same dream. Absently, he petted Iruka's hair, smoothing down the unruly dark locks, lulled by the steady rhythm of Iruka's heart.

"Merry Christmas, Iruka-sensei," he murmured, switching off the television, before he let himself sink into a deep, contented sleep.

Outside, the first snowflakes started to fall.

_- End -_

* * *

Definitely weird. O.O Freaked out yet? Review, if you're brave enough ... 


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